


are you real? are you here?

by purplebard



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Light Angst, One Shot, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebard/pseuds/purplebard
Summary: They actually stop and look at you this time, eyes wide and blinking. “Can I hear an answer first? I like things to be out in the open.”You rest the peonies on top of a cardboard box full of rifle ammunition. “No, I am not going to be your girlfriend just because you brought me stolen flowers. Although they are pretty. And smell very nice.”





	are you real? are you here?

**Author's Note:**

> if i didnt write something in this vein i couldnt rationalize accepting davepepe as canon, so here's a catbird who has learned something about consent and isn't as much of an author cop-out.

     This room is not as bad as it could be. It is plain, unpainted, a bland suburban shade of beige that blends into the carpet. The kind of house that springs out of the ground when an accountant with too much money to spend first conceptualizes that  he wants a new place for the kids. No one has lived here before. Your feet do not even leave imprints when you walk. The tit-shaped light in the middle of the ceiling makes everything a bright cream color. Intense, though lacking in personality.

     This room is not as bad as it could be. This is what you keep telling yourself.

 

     Nothing is unpacked. There are boxes from the ship here. Flower pots crusted with dirt, old posters, loose doll parts and an area rug that used to sit in front of your bed. You have no bed anymore, because you do not want the one you used to sleep in. Sleeping in it gives you nightmares. Right now you sleep on an air mattress John’s dad hauled up from the basement. Your dad. Your dad? No. Half-brother. Plain, unpockmarked. Intense, though somehow lacking in personality. You do not have a dad. You had a brother. Have. You have a brother. Where is he?

     John has been asleep for most of the day. He wakes up, drinks half a glass of water, pours the rest out in the sink, watches YouTube videos, then goes back to sleep. He promises you that you will go to the Carapacian kingdom soon, because he never saw Prospit and there is so much to see. It won’t be the same, but it will be close. He keeps promising, and then he sleeps the day away. No bubbles, no kingdoms. You know how he must be feeling, but neither of you are willing to give it voice. You do not have to wonder what it is that makes sleep so attractive.

     This is something you used to dream about – living with your twin. It isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You are living with a ghost, a ghost who thinks you are the ghost. And who is to say he isn’t right? Are you not dead? Did you not leave the greatest part of you where she cannot be reached again?

     Can’t write on his walls anymore. Other people may see.

 

     Before bed you stretch in the middle of the room. You sit with your legs crossed and watch the window. Then, because it makes you uncomfortable to have your back to the door, you turn around and watch that instead. You shut off your mind. You think of nothing.

     This room is good because it does not smell like smoke. 

     You stretch your arms above your head and take deep breaths. You pile your hair on top of your head, take off your glasses so everything is fuzzy. You think of nothing.

     No one here is dead, and that makes things bearable.

     You flex your fingers. You sprawl one leg out and touch your toes. You – 

 

_      Ping!  _

     You –  

_      P-Pling! _

 

     Pebbles at the window. You count down from five, get up, and haul the window open.

     “Are mew going to let me in or hawk?” Davepeta asks. It looks like they’re hooking their claws into the gutter, dangling precariously between a tree branch and the house. They place their hand at the top of the window and lift it up the rest of the way. You wince when their muddy cleats hit the windowsill and shed clumps of mud onto the carpet.

     “If you can fit your wings in. Here.” 

     You take their hand and help them in through the window. Your first instinct is to will the door closed, just in case it’s cracked, but you can’t do that anymore, even if you swear you feel the Green Sun inside you still. Like a ghost limb.

     “Thank ya. Am I being quiet this time?” 

     They bring a finger to their cat lips – or, well, shoot, you should be more considerate. Not ‘cat lips,’ but a moon-shaped scar where a wild animal tore open her upper lip. Their! Their upper lip.

     “You’re cursed with an outdoor voice. John’s asleep, and his dad is… I don’t know, I think watching a crime documentary. What are these?”

     You know what these are. Davepeta yanks a ragged bouquet out from god knows where –  you hope not the ironic (?) fannypack strung through the loops of their high-waisted shorts. This time it’s peonies. Before that were daisies missing petals, and before that was paper roses, and before even that were dandelions with the roots attached. Every night has gone by like this, a handful of new flowers –  or weeds –  and what comes inevitably after.

     “I know you stole these from someone.”

     “Ha! Try to guess. Mew have nothing on me.”

     “I told you that the wordplay gives me a migraine. You stole these from your sister, didn’t you.”

     “Damn!”

     Even when they’re annoyed they still look amused. They fiddle with the strap slipping out from under their t-shirt, sighing. You stare at the flowers a moment. Then you accept them.

     “Would you like the flash card monologue tonight, or should I rattle off something fresh? A sonnet? ABAB rhyme?”

     “Davepeta.”

     “A haiku? I’m getting good at those. You say ‘homelessness,’ I say, ‘getting in tune with nature.’ Here –”

     “Davepeta. I am tired. Please. Can we not do this again.”

     They actually stop and look at you this time, eyes wide and blinking. “Can I hear an answer first? I like things to be out in the open.”

     You rest the peonies on top of a cardboard box full of rifle ammunition. “No, I am not going to be your girlfriend just because you brought me stolen flowers. Although they are pretty. And smell very nice.”

     A brief, crestfallen look flashes across their face. Then the perk jolts right back into them, and they’re up in your space again, brushing your arms with their claws and breathing at your neck. You sigh in that way that pet owners do when the puppy chews up something of no true consequence.

     “Okay, but hear me out on this one: you still let me kiss you all the time, though.”

     Your eyes find a spot on the boring, boring ceiling and focus on it. “Because you learned how to ask first.”

     “I see. Like this?” They bonk their forehead against yours, and you close your eyes. “Is there a chance you could spare a kiss in these hard economic times?”

     “You don’t have to be a jackass about it,” you reply, but all the same you plant your lips on theirs. You can feel the scar tissue that’s pulled their mouth into a W, but they have a way of working around it. You pull back when they forget how sharp their little fangs are.

     “You’re killin’ me Harley, plain and simple.”

     This is shaping up to be a draining conversation. You collapse over on the uncovered mattress, where you’ve made a nest of guest blankets and wadded up hoodies. 

     “It just isn’t my problem. Don’t bring me flowers. Don’t come to me with the same crap every night.” Tears sting in your eyes. You slap your hands to your eyes and sniff. “Just let me think!”

     Davepeta is terrible at following directions. They plop down beside you, sitting upright as they trace the bony arch of your hip. “All you can do in a hole like this is think. Woulda thought you’d have it all figured out by now. But I guess two hundred thousand minds are better than one.” They tap their temple.

     How is that supposed to make you feel? You want to scream into the mattress until you pass out, but John is the one who got all those genes.

     “You said you didn’t define yourselves by your pieces anymore. That you were someone separate.” 

     A warm gust of evening wind comes in through the open window. But it doesn’t smell like saltwater, just wet earth and grass. Suddenly nauseous, you bury your face in your hair.

     “I am!” Davepeta says. “Well. I guess what I mean is, all the parts have settled. Like uh… when we met, I was brand new. Like a pop you get out of the vending machine, and since it just got rattled around in there it’s all shook up and fizzy and shooting all over the place. But now I’ve had time to be me, and parse through all the fizz, and now I can start to see things as separate and whole.”

     “Sugar high. That would explain why you kissed then killed me.”

     “I didn’t kill you. I woke you up! And you did what I said! You had fun.”

     You bite your lip. “I got punched by a chess woman wearing my dog’s face. It wasn’t fun. It was just dumb.”

     “Hmm.”

     Downstairs, you hear the hollow sound of the fridge closing. Water hisses through the pipes for a moment, then stops, followed by the sound of the door to the kitchen swinging shut.

     “I could give you her memories, if you really want.”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

     “Yeah ya do. I’m a hero of Heart. Sort of.” Davepeta stops skimming your skin to rest their palm atop your knee, scratching absentmindedly. Their nails were painted green at some point, but have been chipped to flakes of color. “Well, memories is kind of deceptive. You won’t remember everything… that’s kind of a Mind thing. But you’ll feel what it was like to be her. Without all the sadness and guilt. You could be happy.”

     Too good to be true. You shake your head and feel your shoulders tense. “I can’t even handle being me. What makes you think I can take on her feelings, too?”

     The corner of their mouth twinges. “It was just an idea.”

     “I know. I’m sorry.” Now comes the part where you stop being frustrated with them and start being frustrated with yourself. You blink hard to banish the tears. “It couldn’t have all been happy anyway.”

     Davepeta’s mouth thins to a line. “No. I guess it wasn’t.”

     Insert long pause here.

     “I didn’t treat you very well, Jade. I let my shitty feelings get in the way, and all it did was make you sad. I think I want you to remember it all so you’ll have a real reason to reject me.”

     It’s a joke, at least you think it is, but it stings nonetheless. You don’t want to be touched anymore. Davepeta withdraws their hand as you sit upright. They cock their head, confused and maybe a little freaked out, as you press your face into your hands. You start crying all at once.

     “You’re making this so difficult, and I don’t know why! I’m glad that embracing your ‘ultimate self’ worked for you, but I’m just a lowly human and I don’t know how to do that! I’m stuck with the mind and the memories I have. And right now you’re putting a strain on both of them! You kissed me, you killed me, you disappeared. And now all I get from you are weeds and persistent fucking riddling requests! I don’t know what the fuck it is that you want from me, but it’s too much. It is too fucking much.”

     For a moment, you allow yourself to cry. Your cheeks are all wet as you wipe at them with your palms. Davepeta offers a hand, but you leap up from bed, hugging yourself tight as you walk back to the window. You rest your forehead against the wooden pane. They stand up and follow you, leaving a gap between you just small enough that you can hear their breathing. Outside, all is dark. There is nothing special in the sky. No meteors, no war planes, no golden moons on chains. Nothing. Just treetops and pinpricks of stars.

     Your eyelids droop, exhausted. “This can’t be my life. There has got to be something more important I should be doing. Something greater than this.”

     Davepeta winds their arms around you, and because you are tired you let them settle their chin in the crook of your shoulder. “We have forever to find out what that is.”

     You clench your teeth. They must feel how tense you are, because they loosen their told on you.

     “Do you ever wonder if you’re real? If you’re really here?”

     Davepeta traces your freckles. “I feel too real.”

     “I don’t think I am. I think I was, and now I’m not.”

     “Why?”

     “I used to have all the answers. I knew everything. I knew I was mysterious, that I was cagey, and I enjoyed it. It must have made me happy, that although I had all those secrets to keep, I was special. I wish I knew what happened to make it all fall apart. Now I’m redundant.”

     Davepeta resumes their python grip on you and burrows half their face into your hair. “That’s not true. Come on, you know better.”

     “Tell me honestly that you’d prefer hearing about my three years of depression naps over how much fun they had on that meteor.”

     “I would. Talking to them is a snoozefest. They always have something smart to say about my clothes.”

     “Maybe if I lived with them I would feel better. Maybe I just need to be around the action again.” 

     “Still ain’t unpacked. You could if ya wanted.”

     You lean back, staring at nothing, and let them support your weight. “I haven’t even told John any of this. I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

     “Couple of possible explanations. One, you think he sees you as a Stepford clone of his sister. Two, I have immense charisma and people just can’t help but lay their secrets at my feet. It’s a burden!”

     “Don’t joke about that. I always imagined what it would be like, if I found him in the dream bubbles. If I had a chance to ask him all the things I could’ve if he hadn’t died. And now I’m too scared to.”

     “Asking the tough questions don’t come naturally to all of us. That’s why I’m the one outside your window every night and not vice versa.”

     You exhale through your nose and pull away. “I want to go to bed now. I’m tired.”

     “Do you want me to take the flowers back?”

     “No. Leave them.”

     Davepeta backs off and pats their pockets like they’re forgetting something. You can tell it’s just because they don’t know how to occupy their hands. When you start piling your hair back for the night, Davepeta whistles something low and off-tune as they switch the light off and plant their foot atop the windowsill.

     “Oh, and another thing.” You fold your glasses up and set them on the floor.

     “Whatcha want, Harley?”

     “I won’t be your girlfriend, but I will be your date.”

     Oh Jesus, what are you doing? Well, you’ve already started talking. See it through to the end.  

     “I’ve never seen Derse before. Let’s take the train to the Carapacian kingdom and you can show me. I have plenty to talk about on the way there.”

     A huge smile lights up their face, and it makes you not regret giving yourself emotional whiplash. “I’ll show you my kingdom if you show me yours.”

     “I know you think you’re being cute, but chill.”

     “Gotcha!” They start to climb down, then fidget and think better of it. “Ha! Haha. You got it!” They flap their wings once, feathers shedding on the carpet. “I’ll meet you. Uh. We’ll text!”

     You pull a blanket from the end of the bed and wrap yourself up in it. “Close the screen on your way out.”

     Davepeta nods and kicks out through the window. There’s a scrabbling in the tree branches, a cry of an indignant owl, and the sound of beating wings. Then everything settles, and the night is quiet again. 

 

     It takes a long time to fall asleep. The same question comes to you again and again, so clear and so sharp that you feel you may be sick. Each time, you answer yourself by pinching the skin of your arms between ragged fingernails. A prick of pain fades after just a moment, and you can tell yourself with certainty. You are real, you are here.


End file.
